


Of the Night

by catteo



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catteo/pseuds/catteo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post Andrew Darden's death in the pilot episode. Kelly doesn't really cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Night

Kelly doesn’t know what happens in the days that follow. 

All he knows is that his nights hang thick, heavy with acrid smoke, and he can’t put out the fire in his gut, no matter how hard he tries. He can still feel it in his chest, white hot terror, lancing through his veins, as he hears Casey’s voice break on a single name. 

Then nothing but the dark. 

And the pain.

Kelly sees in fractured moments now. A kaleidoscope of images that he can’t quite piece together. 

He feels the sun on his face, warmth blossoming rose-tinged across closed eyelids. He can hear Andy’s voice, daring him to climb higher. But Kelly was never afraid of heights, and Andy always follows where he leads. He sees white knuckles and a determined grip. Pretends not to hear the sharp edge of fear that cuts him to the bone as his friend calls him back to earth. 

His eyes open to find bloody half-moons carved into the palm of his hand.

Dark amber liquid swirls before him and the burn in his throat almost counters the ice in his chest before he remembers. 

Andy wouldn’t want him to break.

Kelly hears nothing but the rustle of autumn leaves under his feet and the sound of his own heartbeat, steady in his chest. The air is crisp in his lungs and the sky a vivid blue as he makes the final push for home. He hears Andy call his name, but he puts his head down and _runs_ , ignores the plea to slow down. To wait. 

Kelly doesn’t know how.

He finds himself sprawled on the floor, breathing ragged, air tearing past the hollow spaces inside. The empty glass lies just out of reach, a final drop of liquid poised on the rim, waiting its chance to fall. But he finds a half full bottle cocooned in the curve of his arm, and Kelly figures it’s a sign. 

Andy laughs as he places his son into the cradle of Kelly’s arms, claps him on the shoulder and tells him he’s an uncle now. A tiny hand grips his finger and Kelly makes a silent promise to never let them down, this family that somehow found him. These people that trust him to keep them safe.

Ashes taste bitter as regret on Kelly’s tongue and they sting his eyes, even as he clenches them tight closed. Pain flares in his neck and dances under his skin, blazing along synapses and nerves. 

He knows he left part of himself back in the fire and perhaps it’s only right that pieces of him continue to burn. 

Kelly slides to the ground, water sluicing across the floor. Black and grey against the stark white tile. He doesn’t understand why there’s no red from the blood on his hands. She finds him there, hours later, curled against the wall, voice hoarse with apologies and he begs her to take away the pain. 

It’s a coward’s way out, but he was never the brave one.

The floor is cool against his cheek and the sunrise fractures into a million crystals through the window. Sharp metal pierces flesh and everything begins to fade away. But there’s a weight in his arms and a name in his ears and when he dreams it’s of smoke and flames.


End file.
